


Means to an End

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, BDSM, BDSM Scene, BDSM as a coping mechanism, Bondage, M/M, Negotiations, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Power Exchange, S&M, Safeword Use, St. Andrew's Cross, Stress Relief, Wax Play, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Across the years and all the drama and random periods of separation, they worked out a system. Jensen wasn’t a masochist, but he would kneel before Misha. He was Jensen Goddamn Ackles. Actor, director, husband, father, lover, fighter, rockstar... He was a strong man built of strong stuff.</p><p>Misha was stronger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Means to an End

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by [this conversation](https://twitter.com/naricina2/status/704330356699353088) and in particular the quote, "Only a true sadist can submit to an Alpha."

Looking back, Jensen found it comical how hard it was for him to accept that Misha Collins could give him the inner peace he needed.

Of course he could.

Across the years and all the drama and random periods of separation, they worked out a system. Jensen wasn’t a masochist, but he would kneel before Misha. No one else, not _anyone_ else ever, because he didn’t trust anyone else to do it right. He didn’t trust anyone else to give him what he needed without breaking him apart. He was Jensen Goddamn Ackles. Actor, director, husband, father, lover, fighter, rockstar... He was a strong man built of strong stuff.

Misha was stronger.

Misha quieted all of Jensen’s inner demons. Misha grabbed hold of his sadistic tendencies and turned them inside out. Misha pushed Jensen’s physical strength into reclusion and his emotions into the spotlight.

It had been two weeks since he’d cried.

Two weeks, in their line of work and with the schedule they carried, with the exhaustion that weighed on his bones, was too long. In that time he’d been going non-stop, filming long days in Vancouver and then jetting off to conventions and family time as soon as he left the set. He was done. Over it. Itching for a counterforce before the weight of it all pushed him wholly into a bad headspace.

It always went the same way. “Are you all right?” Jensen would ask, even when he knew the answer.

“Are _you_?” It was predictable. It was clarity on a link. Jensen didn’t even have to answer vocally anymore. He’d let the weight show in his eyes, and then he’d reach out just barely for Misha’s arm, and the other man would just look up and stare right through him, into his soul. He’d cup the side of his face and stroke his thumb over the stubble, and nod without breaking eye contact. But there was always a shift, even though he never looked away - a click from concerned friend and lover to Dominant.

No, not Dominant. Jensen himself was dominant, was sadistic, was kinky as hell underneath it all.

Misha clicked from concerned friend and lover to _Alpha_.

“ _Please_ , Mish.” He shook so badly his teeth chattered as Misha went about his meticulous preparations, the way he always did. “It’s bad, it’s so bad.”

“Shhhh.” Misha fastened his wrists up one at a time to the frame of a St. Andrew’s cross. Once secured, he circled around the cross and met Jensen’s eyes stone-faced for a beat before turning away, and Jensen in turn pulled at the padded metal restraints. “You should know by now that I don’t rush. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

Jensen’s only response was to give a guttural cry of effort as he pulled hard at the cuffs. With legs spread apart and bound in single ankle cuffs on either side to mirror his arms, the result was that his back bowed out, forcing him to pull his body back upright through the strength in his shoulders.

“Just… relax.”

“Alex, I’ll take World’s Most Absurd Requests for $1,000.”

“Hmmm.” Misha approached with measured steps and circled around so that he could once again meet Jensen face-to-face and leaned in close enough to touch noses - almost. He held back the final millimeter. He held eye contact all the while that he reached up and around to the front of the cross to test Jensen’s bonds for security and kicked at his feet for the same reason. And then he leaned in close and rested his forehead square against Jensen’s. “I’m going to use the bamboo switch, dragon tongue, two candles… and a blade.” Jensen gave a tight swallow and a nod. This exchange always made him shiver in anticipation - the one where Misha seemed oddly professional, his voice tight as he outlined his plan for his lover. They did it every time, of course, but it never failed to excite him. “Knowing that, do you need any additional restraints?” Jensen just shook his head, but Misha gave a mirrored shake in return. “I need you to use your voice, J.”

“Nn-No. No. I’m good.”

“I plan to change your position at least twice. I may choose to fist you and would like to have that option. I’d like you to recognize verbally that you consent to it, as well as agree to leave the decision in my hands.”

“Usual safewords in place?”

“Yes. Safewords in place."

“That’s, uh. Yeah. I’d like that.”

“OK then.” Again he walked away, but only to grab an implement. Then Jensen felt the thin lick of the switch as Misha tapped it in a quick, repetitive motion up the underside of his right arm, fingertips to armpit, and then down the right side of his abdomen, over his hip, down his leg. He crossed over and brought the same beat - not hard enough to mark, not even hard enough to hurt, but Jensen knew he was just warming up - up the inside of the right leg. He carefully avoided the groin area, moving across and down the inside of the left leg. Up the outside of the left leg, the left side of his abdomen, the underside of the left arm, up around and over the top of the left arm. He crossed the chest just under the collarbone, and finished across the top of Jensen’s right arm, back to where he’d started.

When he finished, the entire outline of Jensen’s body was buzzing.

“Good?”

“Mmmhmm.” It felt even more fantastic when he closed his eyes, like a million tiny sparks were exploding on the skin Misha’s switch had touched. He reveled in it, relaxing his chest against the cool metal of the cross.

And then there was a _whoosh_ through the air, and his ass was on fire.

Everything - all the pleasure, all the pain, everything - flooded to focus on the burning strip of skin that the switch had just left on his right ass cheek.

“Jesus fuck!”

“You can just call me Misha.”

“I can hear you smirking, you _asshole_!”

This time the response from Misha was another _woosh_ and the sting of the switch across Jensen’s left ass cheek. “Now you match,” Misha admired as he started peppering Jensen’s ass with the same tiny, decisive dings he’d given the outline of the body. Jensen started to sweat and shake, and the only response from his partner was a soft laugh from somewhere deep inside. “Heck of a warm-up, huh?”

“Fucking hurts.”

“Just getting started, Handsome. Scream for me.” This time the switch came from Jensen’s left side and landed flush across both ass cheeks, the sting amplified by the way the switch vibrated over his crack. Jensen obliged his partner with an open-mouthed cry and a thrash against his bonds as the first cross-wise hit was quickly followed by four more before the assault ended. “Good boy.” The praise came out breathily in the silence, and one of Misha’s hands came up to briefly squeeze and massage Jensen’s left shoulder before giving a consummate pat and breaking contact. “Now comes the fun stuff.”

Misha had used a Dragon’s Tongue on him before; hell, Jensen had used one himself. He knew its effectiveness on both ends. It was a specialized whip, tapered and split at the tip, so that it licked his skin like a fiery tongue when wielded correctly. And Misha sure as hell knew how to wield it correctly.

The whipping came without mercy, stroke after beautifully agonizing stroke as quickly as Misha could recoil and reload his powerful arm. His aim was right on, too - buttucks, thighs, upper back, stearing clear of arms and legs and being careful not to whip-wrap between Jensen’s body and the unforgiving steel of the cross. It was 15 strokes, but it felt like a hundred, and by the end he was howling, crying, begging for mercy. “ _Please_ , Misha, please, _please_ …”

Misha strode forward and around the cross, lifting his lover’s chin. “Open your eyes.” He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. “Now, Jensen.”

With more effort than he’d ever used to lift his lids, Jensen slowly let the light in until the familiar bright blue of Misha’s irises stared back at him. They stayed like that for nearly a full minute, unblinking, Misha staring into Jensen’s eyes with a focused expression and Jensen staring right back, not sure what he might be projecting. Then Misha reached out and ran the pad of his right thumb softly along Jensen’s right temple and down his cheek. “No tears yet, huh?” He sighed. “They’ll come.” He said it with the same tone he might use to say something like _the sky is blue_ or _tomorrow is Sunday_. Utterly confident in his statement of fact.

He retreated from Jensen’s line of vision and Jensen sagged against the cross as he became acutely aware of the searing pain in his backside. Then Misha appeared again and lifted Jensen’s chin once more, bidding him to drink from a paper cup. The water inside slicked a throat he hadn’t realized was entirely parched from screaming, though it did nothing to soothe the burning in the rest of his body. Jensen drained the cup and then met Misha’s eyes again, giving a nod of thanks.

Misha responded with a harsh kiss of ownership, ending with a possessive snap of his teeth along Jensen’s jaw. Then, “I’ve been neglecting your full frontal. My apologies.” And he reached up, making quick work of the bondage holding Jensen’s wrists before bending to free his ankles in kind. Then another kiss, and he circled the cross, coming around to the side where Jensen had been mounted. Before Jensen could react, Misha grabbed hold of his arm and spun him around, pressing his freshly marked backside up against the cross and causing him to cry out again. The force of the shout magnified as Misha kissed him deeply while reaching between their bodies to grab his balls in a vice grip. Jensen’s screams echoed off the walls, and faded to a whimper and choked hiccups when the grip was released. “What do you say?” Misha moved him away from the cross so he could walk a full circle around him. “What. Do. You. Say, Jensen?”

“Thank you, Sir.” It came out choked and strained, but then, that was how Misha would know they were pure.

“You’re welcome.” With a directional point of his fingers, he indicated the next stage of his plan.  “Can you walk unassisted?”

“I’m uncertain, Sir.” Jensen was amazed at himself, really; he wasn’t accustomed to sub space, wasn’t often comfortable in it, but this time he’d gone in without noticing. The honorary slid out unprompted and possibly unnecessarily, but it felt natural. And there was no judgment here, in this place, with Misha. Misha simply nodded and guided him to lie down on a table. It was simple - a long, raised wooden plank about one-and-a-half body widths across. There were straps for hands and feet, but Misha didn’t fasten them. “I’d like you to practice self-restraint. It needs improvement.”

“You should talk,” Jensen mumbled. Misha froze and shot him a no-nonsense single raised eyebrow. And Jensen felt like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar - by the parent who punished without raising his voice. He could almost see the wheels in Misha’s head turning on his statement as the older man’s jaw clenched, but there were no more words spoken. Jensen watched him stand clenched for a long moment before casting his eyes to the ceiling, pleading silently that the lesson would be quick, and the Alpha merciful.

He heard Misha move away, shuffle about, and then return, at which point Misha leaned over so that his face was directly in Jensen’s line of sight. He didn’t look happy. He didn’t look pissed. He looked blank, unreadable, the way Misha usually looked when they scened like this. Devoid of emotion; focused; purely, utterly dominant. And then he lifted a single red candlestick, flame dancing on the air, and held it right in front of his own eyes, so that Jensen had to see the flame if he wanted to see Misha. It was terrifyingly artistic; dramatically beautiful. Jensen was so captivated that when Misha spoke in his customarily level, balanced tone, Jensen swore it was the tiny tongue of flame that was speaking.

“‘Darkness… cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that.’” A pause, and Misha moved the candle very slightly so that the flame danced a bit. Jensen, captivated, could only watch. “ _Strength to Love_ by Dr. Martin Luther King. I read the book in college. Fascinating stuff. When he wrote it, he was of course speaking in the construct of social justice; on racial tensions and letting love overpower hate, and he wasn’t wrong. Darkness and light were held synonymous to hatred and love; the very next sentence in that paragraph says so explicitly. But I’ve often… considered… he’s not wrong, even in the literal sense. Darkness is always darkness until the light comes and pushes it away. Night will be night for as long as it takes for the dawn to come and push the darkness away. Figuratively… on a small scale. Inside a single person. Inside you, Jensen. Only light… can drive away your darkness. Consider that.” Misha drew in a deep breath on a four-count, held it, and exhaled just as slowly.

Then he tipped the candle.

Jensen’s voice broke the silence that had fallen at the end of Misha’s monologue. He cried out in beautiful agony as the wax dribbled onto his abdomen, barely an inch above his groin. Three more quick licks followed, leaving a dot-dash-dot pattern up to his navel through a single continuous cry before Misha righted his torture device to stop the drip of the wax. He moved the candle aside and peered down at Jensen’s face, arching both eyebrows and pinning the younger man with his gaze. “And that’s why we’re here, right? To drive out your… darkness? Your demons? To let it run out through your tear ducts and bring you back to center? So… a little literal light playing against a figurative darkness. It’s an interesting social experiment. And as we know, I am all. About. Experimentation.” He quirked his right eyebrow for a long moment and held Jensen’s gaze so that the pliant man didn’t notice until his pain sensors alerted him that Misha had tipped the candle again. This time the wax trailed a stripe from the inside to the outside of his left thigh.

He howled unintelligibly and banged his fists against the wooden plank but Misha didn’t let up. He continued the assault with the wax down to Jensen’s knee before moving it to the right leg and running up the center of the thigh to the hip. Then he righted the candle and glared down at his lover. A pensive stare and he leaned in closer to grit out, “Don’t you dare look away from me.” Because he knew, somehow. Jensen was going to. He was going to throw his head back because he couldn’t take the scrutiny, even more than he couldn’t take the pain. Together, the two were too much and he was going to lose his shit so he had to look away. But no. Even as he still considered it with a couple of indecisive brain cells, Misha used his right hand to grab Jensen’s chin in a vice grip and keep his head steady. “Look. At. Me.”

The candle tipped again and burned a trail across Jensen’s midsection and God, he needed-- something. He didn’t even know what. His fingertips desperately scratched for purchase on the wooden plank; his eyes burned heavy with emotion.

“There.”

It was odd, the way Misha noticed the first tear before he did. It should have been obvious, as cool as it was against his otherwise burning body.

Misha held the candle between their faces once more, but slightly to the side; more so that it illuminated Jensen’s face while leaving his own in the shadows. “You should see the way the flame catches your tears.” For the first time all night, Misha’s voice carried emotion. He gave a breath of a chuckle from deep in his chest before moving the flame even more to the side and leaning in close to capture Jensen’s mouth in a kiss. It was deep, searching, possessive - but not painful. Still, Jensen sobbed into the kiss and Misha swallowed the sound, a give-and-take to which they’d become accustomed over the years. He swallowed the sob and the whimpers that followed. The only drops of wax that strayed onto Jensen’s tender belly were those that made it over Misha’s thumb and forefinger and down to the bottom of the candle. And Jensen arched up when each tiny droplet of pain hit - not in negative response, but to embrace them.

Misha broke the kiss to blow out the candle at a point when it was obvious he didn’t have any further plans for it. Then, panting, he braced his forehead against Jensen’s and shifted slightly so that he could cradle the younger man’s face in both of his hands. The next kiss was square, equal, and intentioned. “Red,” Misha breathed in the space between their lips.

Jensen nodded, still drawing shaky breaths and emitting tiny whimpers. He let Misha break contact just long enough to lay the candle far to the side and shed his pants and boxers, which he did quickly before climbing up onto the wooden plank. He sat astride his lover’s middle and drew his legs up at the knees before leaning down to embrace Jensen in a bear hug, cheek pressed to the left side at chest level. And they stayed just like that for a minute - ten - twenty - they couldn’t say. They stayed like that until Jensen was empty of tears.

Their eyes connected in near-darkness after a few minutes of complete silence - not _because_ of the silence, but because Jensen lifted a hand and started to stroke Misha’s hair. Then Misha moved so that he could kiss deeply, touch freely, embrace his submissive with his whole body in a way Jensen had never experienced with any other partner, whether he was the Top or the bottom. He made love to Jensen’s mouth with his tongue while his hands wandered south in search of other territory, one finger breaching the body beneath him before Jensen whimpered and broke the kiss.

“Please don’t…”

“I won’t. Another time,” he offered with a tiny smile and a nuzzle of the nose before resuming their kiss and his probing.

“Why…?”

“You were done.”

“But you were just getting started.”

“I think we both know this isn’t about me. Never has been.”

Jensen wanted to ask more questions, but he wasn’t sure what they might be, so he just let Misha dive back in and love him, the way Misha always did. He just let Misha give of himself, the way Misha did, all the time, every day, even though he was quite clearly in charge. Even though he was clearly so Alpha that Alphas would gladly fall in line behind him. He took his position and chose to use it to give rather than receive.

It was so counterintuitive. So boggling.

It was so… _Misha_.

And ultimately, he knew it was exactly what got them here, like this.

Misha took his sweet time in prep before easing his erection into Jensen’s body, and then it was a slow, sweet ride to the finish line. It was a harsh contrast to how the scene began, but then, that was often the case. Jensen asked Misha to break him, and Misha did. Time and again, he didn’t disappoint. But he could turn tender in a heartbeat and that was what made him the best damned sadist Jensen had ever met. Not his tools, not his body, not his words - it was in his ability to control himself and turn on a dime.

Misha’s orgasm was nearly silent, just riding in on a sharp thrust and a hiss, but Jensen’s cries of completion echoed off the walls. Fresh tears spilled down his temples on both sides and tremors racked his body, and again, Misha covered him bodily in an embrace and they stayed like that, still and sated, until Jensen moved an arm of his own accord.

Then, “Let’s get you into the shower.” Misha’s voice was quiet and doting as he cupped Jensen’s left cheek.

Jensen could only nod as he inhaled on a sniffle.

“Can you walk?”

“No.” He sounded small. Helpless. But they both knew that wasn’t the case. Misha just nodded and dismounted before reaching one strong arm under Jensen’s knees and the other under his neck and lifting him into the cradle of an embrace.

To the shower they went, and under a warm spray, Misha reverently washed all of Jensen. The water and a washcloth freed the grip of the cooled wax and washed it down the drain. Then he lowered the power of the spray and used a gentle soap and his hands to clean the fresh stripes on his lover’s backside. All the while he never broke contact completely, and his lips left tiny kisses in random places, but he said very little. The only words spoken were in instruction - “Lift your arm,” or, “This may sting a bit.”

Then the water was off and Jensen was wrapped in a clean towel and led to the safety and security of Misha’s warm, comfortable bed - a harsh contrast from the unforgiving wooden plank. Misha carefully applied antiseptic cream to the four open wounds on Jensen’s back and bandaged them with gentle hands, taking care never to use more pressure than was necessary.

At long last, his task complete, he came to lie on his side next to his lover and pulled a heavy blanket and and down comforter up over them both. By now, as always, Jensen was out of words. His body and mind needed time to reset; he needed to sleep.

But tomorrow, he would wake up refreshed in Misha’s arms. Tomorrow, he’d be centered and focused and ready once again to take on the world and his life and all its wonderful mysteries and challenges.

These were often his thoughts in the last remnants of consciousness after a scene, and they warmed him and never failed to bring a smile to his face. He felt safe and loved; he felt sheltered and cared for. He felt alive. “Thank you.” Somehow, the words managed to push past the exhaustion the clogged the path from his brain to his mouth. But that was all the strength he had. The response was real, but he only heard it in his dreams.

A soft press of lips to lips. A nuzzle of noses. A hand on his hip. And an angel’s voice, deep but quiet. “Always, Love. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was challenging and fun. It also led to unexpected places, including (I think) the first time I've written safeword use by a Dominant. That surprised me. I know they didn't finish their scene, but the reality was that I couldn't let it keep going after Jensen broke. I hope that came out clearly and made sense. 
> 
> I do still wonder what Misha could do with a knife and may write that in another story at some point. :)


End file.
